


Cafe Canaveral

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Caffeine Addiction, Coffeeshop Nonsense, Darcy Lewis & Loki Friendship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Loki & Jane Foster Friendship, POV Second Person, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Reader-Insert, Reluctant Avenger Loki, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14972180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: As far as part-time jobs go, working in a tiny coffeeshop is a pretty good gig. It’s laid back, pretty flexible, and you get to do a lot of people-watching, since most of your regulars are overworked scientists and government-types from the newest space center expansion.When a tall, arrogant, dark-haired stranger shows up in the tow of one such frazzled scientist one steamy Florida morning, you’re immediately intrigued.And, even though you don’t know it yet, so is he.A post-canon Avengers Coffeeshop!AU





	1. Iced Latte

It just isn’t  _ right _ for it to be this hot, especially not this early in the morning. Eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit and 76% humidity at five in the morning? Even for Florida, this is ridiculous. 

And to make it even worse, you’re working two shifts today - your usual opening shift, and then you’re staying on for the mid-shift until Taylor shows up to take over closing.  _ If _ Taylor shows up… he’s been insanely flakey lately. You know for  _ sure _ Kannady won’t be coming in today, because she’s off touring colleges.

_ Lucky Kannady.  _ You really miss the joys of undergrad life. Grad school  _ sucks. _

If a coffeeshop can be described as a ‘hole in the wall,’ then that’s  _ exactly _ what your little haven from the Florida heat is; it’s tiny, locally-owned, perpetually understaffed, and has the  _ best _ coffee around. Or at least,  _ you _ think so. It’s not like you’re biased, or anything.

Rose shows up right after you and immediately starts working on the chalkboard that takes up the entire left wall. She’s studying graphic design, and she’s enthusiastically jumped onto the boss’s idea of making Café Canaveral more marketable.

“It’s those Instagram kids we’ve gotta lure in,” she’ll mutter. “Free advertising.”

Sometimes, you want to point out that she’s one of those ‘Instagram kids,’ herself, but you love her, so you bite your tongue. And she is kind of right - the grouchy, half-awake government researcher types that the café tends to attract aren’t necessarily the best for drawing in new customers, even though they are a pretty loyal bunch.

“What’s on the menu for today?” you ask.

“That would be the  _ Space Case, _ a triple espresso mocha frappe. Caramel and Oreo crumbles, too.” She turns slightly, making unenthusiastic jazz hands.  _ “It’s out of this world.  _ And it’s Monday, so those nerds at the space center are gonna need all the espresso they can get.”

“Nice spaceship.”

“Thanks.” Switching colors, she begins to shade it in a vibrant red. “I figured I’d go retro with the design. It’s  _ totally _ not because actual alien spaceships are super weird-looking.”

_ Ah, yes. Actual alien spaceships. _ You’d never expected to see an  _ actual _ alien spaceship in your lifetime, but then Earth had apparently done  _ something _ to draw extraterrestrial attention, and now it was all the news could talk about. First it had been New York - what a surprise it had been to find out that some alien ships looked like  _ whales _ \- and then most recently, the  _ Event. _

No one is entirely certain what the Event  _ is _ (or was), but everyone seems to know that it happened, and that it was almost really,  _ really _ bad. Like, the end-of-life-as-we-know-it bad. The governments of the world have been shockingly in-accord that whatever  _ actually _ happened is need-to-know, and that the average citizen  _ doesn’t _ need-to-know.

Or maybe most of them don’t know what  _ really _ happened, either.

Either way, business has  _ definitely _ picked up in the science and engineering sector, and Cape Canaveral, already home to the Kennedy Space Center, has seen a tremendous amount of rapid growth; word on the street is that Stark Industries is funding the construction of the new research complex only a few miles away. 

The  _ good _ thing is that all of those sleep-deprived scientists crawl into the café at all hours, desperately searching for even the slightest buzz of caffeine to keep them going. The  _ bad _ thing is that it kinda seems like your general vicinity might have just turned into a major target, in the event that more pissed-off alien invaders show up.

You try not to dwell on that part too much.

A few of your early-morning regulars show up almost as soon as you officially open, and you take care of them, giving Rose a few extra minutes to work on her masterpiece; simple orders, you can handle fine on your own, but you honestly prefer the register - Rose is the resident coffee  _ artiste, _ not you. 

More and more customers start to trickle in around six o’clock, and she dusts off her chalky fingers and joins you behind the counter, beaming when her creation of the day starts getting orders almost immediately. 

“It’s a total calorie bomb, too,” she whispers to you. “Probably lets them go longer without stopping for a snack break.  _ Super _ unhealthy.”

“You’re an evil genius,” you reply, grinning, then the bell over the door jingles, and you turn to lay eyes upon what is  _ probably _ the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. “Holy crap.”

She follows your gaze.  _ “Jesus,” _ she whispers appreciatively. “We need to make  _ that _ guy a regular. Imagine the horde of groupies we could attract.”

You snort - leave it to  _ Rose _ to think of it from that angle. But she’s not  _ wrong.  _ The man in question is tall and lean, with clearly-defined muscle and jet-black hair that just barely feathers past his ears. 

_ Damn. _

He’s also super pale, so you guess he can’t have been in Florida for very long. “A new scientist at the Stark facility?” you mumble to Rose as you breeze over to pass a cappuccino to one of the customers waiting at the bar. 

“Maybe,” she replies. “Check out the chick he’s with.”

The line is slightly shorter now, and as you take the next few customers, you try to subtly sneak peeks at him; the guy looks like a Disney prince. Or maybe a Disney villain, because there’s definitely a disdainful, smug sort of look on his face. 

_ He’s probably the type that will make a really specific, complicated order and then complain about it,  _ you think. They guy clearly looks like someone who is used to bossing people around.

Which is weird, because while  _ he _ has the vibe of some wealthy business tycoon’s spoiled heir, the woman he’s with looks like she probably slept in a pile of research notes - she’s giving off a  _ major _ overworked grad student aura, or maybe even that of a professor with publication issues, even though she looks pretty young for that. 

They finally reach you, and you try to focus on the woman and avoid looking up at the man, who’s currently glancing around the shop with a sort of vague disapproval. “Sorry,” she says, digging into the messenger bag at her side, “this is going to be a big order.”

“Oh, no worries,” you reply with a perfect customer-friendly smile. “We love big orders!” 

The man at her side rolls his eyes, which you notice now are a particularly enchanting shade of light green. Or is it blue? You actually can’t really tell, and you turn your attention back to the woman, cheeks heating.

“Okay,” she says, pulling a crumpled sticky note out of her bag. It’s incredibly low-tech for someone who looks like they probably work with the space program, and you try to hide your surprise. “Three regular black coffees in whatever your biggest size is. Venti?”

“We just call it large.”

“Gotcha. Three larges, then, two with room for cream and sugar. A large iced latte, a chai frappe…” She glances up at the menu over your head, frowning in confusion. “Do you have green tea? I didn’t see it online, but I figured I’d ask.”

“We do. That last section up there.” You point, and you watch her eyes quickly scan the board, surprisingly intense.  _ Definitely a researcher, _ you think. She’s got that look of slightly-crazed focus that most of your regulars exhibit, except hers seems cranked up to eleven.

“Okay, give me a large iced green tea with a shot of…” she squints at the note in her hand. “Crap, it smudged.”

“You are so  _ primitive,”  _ the man beside her drawls. “It was  _ peach. _ Banner wanted peach.”

“Oh, yeah. Peach syrup. That, please. And a medium Earl Grey.”

“Great!” you reply. “Names for the order?”

“Um, just use mine. Jane. We can sort them out when we get there.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s all for now.” 

You ring her up, trying to ignore the fact that the hot guy with her is  _ blatantly _ staring at you. He smirks when you finally  _ do _ glance up, and your cheeks flush; you tell yourself it’s just from the heat. All these people coming in are letting out the AC.  _ That’s all. _

There’s a lull in the ordering line, so you try to help Rose finish up their order; this is the kind of patronage you want to draw back, these well-paid caffeine addicts who pick up big orders every morning on their way to work. You definitely don’t want to keep them waiting. 

As you begin to fit their beverages into the paperboard drink carriers, you suddenly wonder which one is for  _ him.  _ Probably the black coffee. He looks like the black coffee type. Or maybe the Earl Grey. He sounds British, so maybe you’re just stereotyping him, but you could definitely see him being an Earl Grey man. 

But  _ no, _ it’s the iced latte that he plucks delicately from your hand, right as you’re about to fit it into the carrier. “That’s mine,” he says, and suddenly you realize what it means when people are described as having  _ vulpine _ smile.

You can’t help but stare after them as they leave, and Rose appears over your shoulder, nearly making you jump. “Did you see that?” she whispers excitedly. “They had a driver!”

“They did?”

“Yeah. A total Secret Service-looking dude, too. Sunglasses and an earpiece.”

“Woah.”

“What was the name on the order?”

“Jane. And the guy mentioned a Banner…” you trail off, eyes widening as both of you have the same thought. 

“Jane  _ Foster?”  _ she exclaims. “And  _ Bruce Banner?” _

“I… I think so.”

_ Holy crap.  _ You might’ve just served the early-morning pick-me-up for the freaking  _ Avengers. _

This is probably the best Monday of your entire life.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my very first ko-fi coffee, here’s my spin on the classic coffeshop!AU trope. It's probably going to lean more towards the light and fluffy side... I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Original post on [Tumblr](https://maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com/post/175023825531/cafe-canaveral-iced-latte) <3


	2. Mocha Frappé

Taylor calls your name, sticking his head out into the back alley, where you’d been taking out the trash that he’d _conveniently_ forgotten to deal with last night. It’s another steamy, horribly hot morning, and a thin sheen of sweat is already starting to form on your skin.

_“What?”_ you snap. He isn’t exactly in your good graces at the moment.

“Uh, there’s a dude here. He’s asking for you. By name.”

_Great._ What could someone _possibly_ need you for first thing on a Tuesday morning? Maybe it’s just one of the regulars with some special request or complaint - although honestly, you doubt most of them even remember your name. They’re usually pretty clearly focused on whatever’s going on inside their own heads.

Plucking your black t-shirt from your skin in a valiant effort to cool down, you step inside the mercifully-cool, air-conditioned back room, stopping by the sink to give your hands a quick rinse. As soon as you deal with whoever’s asking for you, you’re going to make yourself something nice and iced; you figure you deserve it.

When you step into the front, tying your apron around your waist, your heart begins to pound, because standing in front of the register is the man from yesterday. The exceptionally _hot_ one.

_The one that’s with the Avengers._

He’s smirking, and you’re suddenly incredibly self-conscious about your slightly sweaty, disheveled appearance. _Damn this heat wave,_ you think as you step towards the register, a pleasant smile plastered on your face. _Keep your mind on business. Stop checking out the customers._

“How did you know my name?” you blurt out, though you’d intended to simply ask how you could help him. His smile grows, and you cringe at your own awkwardness.

The man raises his hand - _he has nice hands,_ you note distractedly - and reaches over the counter, his eyes locked with yours; your breath catches in your throat as his fingers stretch towards you…

And then he says your name as he taps your nametag, grinning in earnest now as your cheeks heat. “You are marked,” he said. “Easily identifiable. I have an excellent memory.”

“Oh.” You feel like an idiot, but it _is_ kinda weird that he’d remember your name after only one meeting; he hadn’t even really talked to you, after all. “What can I do for you?”

He holds out a bright yellow sticky note. “The same as yesterday,” he says. “Except for me. I want something _different_ today.”

“Oh, okay.” You delicately pluck the paper from his fingers, trying as best as you can not to touch him, because some part of your brain is really, _really_ encouraging you to touch him. “So what _are_ you having today, then?”

His bright eyes scan the menu, then he turns to the chalkboard wall, brow raised in apparent amusement. “The _Space Case,”_ he says, almost as if he’s laughing at some inside joke.

“Good choice,” you say, punching in the order. “Perfect day for a mocha frappe.”

He scoffs.

“What’s the name for the order?” you ask, trying to keep your voice casual, because you’re honestly pretty excited to figure out who this guy is; even though there’s no sign of Dr. Jane Foster this time, there’s a man in a suit and sunglasses hovering just inside the door who’s _clearly_ some kind of security, so your mysterious coffee-man must be pretty important, too.

The look he gives you is sly, as if he _knows_ that you’re fishing for information. “Just use the same one as before,” he says. “Jane. She is waiting in the car.”

“Got it.”

The credit card he hands you has her name on it, too - you might question him further, if not for the Secret Service-looking dude who may-or-may-not be staring right at you. The last thing you want to do is get taken into custody because you got too curious about a handsome customer who _might_ have some kind of top-secret government job.

Sneaking another look at him as you write the orders on the side of the cups, you notice that a few strands of his dark hair are plastered against his forehead.

_Huh,_ you think, oddly fascinated. _I guess even Disney princes sweat in this heat._ The fact that he’s wearing a suit probably doesn’t help - who _does_ that? Even the fancy-pants, white-collar regulars who come in every day usually ditch the jacket while they’re off-duty, but this dude looks sharp and put-together, like he just stepped off the runway.

“Is something the _matter_ with you, miss?” he asks, a false, saccharine smile on his face, and you blanch, horrified that you’ve been caught so easily.

“Oh, no. I mean, I just thought… I wondered why you were wearing so many layers. Since it’s so hot outside, you know? I don't know how you can stand it.”

_Fantastic._ You can’t even be smooth when you’re talking about the weather. The weather is supposed to be the safest, _easiest_ topic for casual conversation, an you can’t even handle that.

“Style before comfort.”

_Well,_ it’s not exactly a sentiment that you necessarily agree with (especially in _this_ weather), but you can certainly appreciate the effect.

“Yo,” Taylor says, breaking you from your appreciative examination of the strange man’s emerald-green tie. “Want me to make these, or what?”

“No,” you reply quickly, startling yourself. “I’ve got it; we had the same order yesterday. You can take over the register.”

“Cool.”

As you move aside and start working on the _Avengers Order,_ because that’s _definitely_ what you’re calling it from now on, you feel the weight of the man’s gaze on your back. _Crap,_ you think. How are you supposed to work under these conditions?

But you manage anyway, and soon you’re packing his order into the carrying containers. You save his for last, offering it out to him carefully. “Here you go. Frozen and delicious.”

He plucks it from your hand without a word and strolls to the door, pausing only for a moment to say something to the security guy on his way out. The door jingles as it slams closed behind him, and the security guy appears to mutter something to himself as he comes to collect the drink carriers.

“Have a nice day!” you call after him as he storms out to the sleek black car where your mystery man is waiting. The security guy doesn’t respond.

_Well, geez,_ you think. _Manners must not be very high on his list of priorities._

“Weird,” Taylor comments as you take over back at the register.

“Yeah,” you say, noticing for the first time the twenty-dollar bill sitting in the previously-empty tip jar. That _definitely_ wasn’t there before… was it? And he’d left a tip on the order when he signed the touchscreen…

“Yeah, super weird.”

_Super, super weird._

“Think they’ll be back?”

“I dunno. I hope so. We can use more of those big orders.”

“And that dude was totally checking you out. I guess that has nothing to do with it, huh?” He snickers as you turn on him, blushing furiously. “What? Don’t act like it’s not true.”

“It’s _not_ true,” you snap, but you’re strangely delighted at the thought of the mysterious hot guy checking you out, all the same.

“Uh-huh. I guess we’ll just see when he comes back, won’t we?”

“Stop being dumb.”

A few more customers trickle in, and you try to focus on your work, but the twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar seems to be taunting you. He _had_ to have left that for you - it had been empty when you rang him up. Or is that just what you _want_ to think, to imagine that a handsome, important stranger is flirting with you?

It’s just your imagination. Even if he _did_ leave it, it definitely isn’t because he’s interested in _you._

_Definitely._ You’re 100% positive.

But that doesn’t stop you from daydreaming for the rest of the day about the way your name sounded as it rolled off his tongue.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter for now, but we'll see if Loki starts to linger longer, now that our dear Reader's caught his eye ;D


	3. Horchata con Espresso

Wednesday rolls around, and you primp just the tiniest bit more than usual - not for _him,_ of course. _No,_ you tell yourself, you were just in the mood for lipgloss today, and the handsome mystery man that might show up first thing in the morning has absolutely _nothing_ to do with it.

Because that would be ridiculous. Right?

Rose is with you again this morning, which is pretty fantastic. It isn’t like you _dislike_ Taylor or anything, but if you have to choose one of them to spend your morning with, Rose will always be your top pick.

“If you were going for a full-out hipster barista look today,” you tease her, “then congrats.”

She sniffs, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses up her nose. “I was a hipster _before_ it was cool.”

You laugh. “Isn’t that what everybody says?”

“Yeah, well, I said it first.” There’s only ten minutes left until the shop opens, and Rose collects her chalk from the back room and starts to work. “Today’s masterpiece is the _Hump Day Horchata._ A beautiful horchata and espresso combo, iced. God knows _everything_ right now needs ice.”

“Nice, I like it. I like the camel, too.”

“You _have_ to have a camel if you joke about Wednesday being Hump Day, it’s like a rule. I think I’m gonna name him Poe.”

“Any reason _why?”_

“Nope. Just like the name Poe. Oh, did those weird maybe-Avenger people come back yesterday morning?”

Your pulse picks up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, the guy came back in to pick stuff up. Basically the same order, but he wanted to try your _Space Case_ masterpiece.”

“Ooh, really?” She turns to you, her drawing temporarily forgotten. “Did he like it?”

“I dunno, actually. He kinda rushed out. But… you can ask him yourself, because their car just pulled up outside.”

 _Calm down,_ you tell yourself. _Act like a normal human being. It’s just a stupid crush. On a customer. That’s totally normal. Act normal._

Rose springs to her feet and rushes off to wash the chalk from her fingers. “Crap,” she says, “didn’t realize it was time to open already.”

“They’re a few minutes early.”

You peek out the window as they emerge from the car; it’s the same crew from Monday, Dr. Jane Foster, a tablet tucked under her arm, your mystery man in a jacket and tie, and the same security dude.

“You might as well let them in, I guess,” Rose calls from the back room. "Get one big order out of the way before everyone else starts to trickle in.”

“Yeah.” You unlock the front door and rush behind the counter, hoping that you don’t look as eager as you feel.

_C’mon, mystery man. Tell me your name today._

The little group steps into the shop and out of the blazing sun, and you aim your welcoming smile at Dr. Foster, pretending that you can’t feel the mystery man’s eyes locked on your face. “Good Morning!” you chirp. “What can we do for you today?”

Dr. Foster returns your smile, though it’s a bit distracted. “Same thing,” she begins, brandishing yet another sticky note, “except -”

“Except _I_ would like something different,” your Disney prince cuts in abruptly, stepping up to Jane Foster’s side.

She shoots him an irritated look. “Yeah, I was _getting_ to that.”

“Don’t mind Dr. Foster,” he tells you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “She is vexed because she had to leave her work in the car for a moment.”

“Because _you_ can’t handle something as _basic_ as picking up coffee!”

“I fail to see the issue. It is servants’ work.”

Her eye twitches, as if she’s considering how satisfying it might feel to smack him across the face, and you stand frozen and fascinated, afraid to interrupt this odd little coworker exchange. “Just tell her what you want so we can get to work. Bruce and I have to get that presentation on exotic matter ready before seven.”

The man sighs dramatically. “As you wish. The special of the day, then. The _horchata.”_

“Gotcha.”

Dr. Foster pays and they step to the side to wait for their order, and you’re flooded with disappointment at the fact that you _still_ don’t know his name.

It’s after five-thirty now, and there are a couple of customers walking in the door, so you stay on the register as Rose starts working on the _Avengers Order._ You notice the sky suddenly darkening outside; it’s not _that_ surprising, given how fickle the weather can be, but it _is_ a little early in the day for a sudden thunderstorm.

But the weather clearly disagrees, because the heavens open up and torrents of rain suddenly begin to beat down on the pavement outside, catching a few customers by surprise as they rush in the door. Lightning cracks, and the answering boom of thunder rattles the whole café.

“Oh, dear,” your handsome stranger remarks, leaning casually against the counter. “It would seem that we are trapped.”

Dr. Foster is staring at him in disbelief. “You _didn’t,”_ she hisses.

He scoffs. “Don’t look at _me,_ Jane. _I_ don’t control the weather.”

_“You’re going to get him into trouble, you ass.”_

It’s clear that you aren’t supposed to be privy to this conversation, and you can’t make heads or tails of it anyway, so you turn back to your work, hurrying through the orders of the other customers who are now stuck in the café. There’s probably going to be a lull for a while - no one is going to want to get out in _that_ weather.

“Thanks, guys,” Dr. Foster says once you and Rose have shoved the last of their drinks into the carriers. “Agent Roy, can you have them bring the car to the door? I don’t want us to be late.”

The security guy hovering behind them raises his hand to his earpiece and mumbles something, then grimaces. “There’s apparently _something_ wrong with the car,” he says. “It won’t start.”

“Are you _serious?”_

“I suppose you might as well settle in, Dr. Foster.” The mystery man’s smile is smug. “We might be here for some time.”

“Call another car,” she says to Agent Roy, radiating frustration.

“Agent Barton is already on his way, m’am.”

The dark-haired stranger runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Must you ruin _all_ my fun?”

“Save it. We’ll see what Tony has to say about this.”

_Holy crap... Tony? Tony Stark? Iron Man?_

Your hand shakes a little as you reach over the counter to hand another customer their espresso. _Act casual. Don’t ask for autographs, definitely. Or a photo._ You’re pretty sure Rose would kill for a photo of these guys in the café. Real-life celebrity customers.

And why does your mystery man seem so pleased to be trapped here? You turn to rinse out a cup in the sink, flushing as you remember Taylor’s assurance that the guy was checking you out.

_No way._

But then you hear your name in his voice again, and you remind yourself to keep breathing as you turn back to the counter, smiling helpfully. “Yes?”

The look he’s fixed on you is… _predatory._ You feel like a deer in the headlights, and your smile falters, though his own remains firmly in place. “I need a straw.”

“Oh,” you say, startled, “they’re right…” But then you trail off, confused, because the cup of straws that you’re _positive_ you refilled not thirty minutes ago is now completely empty.

Maybe you forgot, in all of the excitement? You’re usually pretty on top of things.

“Sorry,” you flounder. “I’ll get you one.” Embarrassed, you reach under the counter and pull out a straw, which he carefully takes from your hand, his fingers just _barely_ brushing against yours.

You could _swear_ you feel a spark - that isn’t something that really _happens,_ is it?

“Thank you, darling.” Then he winks and sticks his straw into his drink, taking a long sip as he continues to stare at you. Somehow, you find that you can’t look away, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. _“Delicious.”_

 _Lord help me,_ you think, despairing as a heated flush creeps up your neck. _This guy’s seriously trying to kill me._

But then Rose appears at your elbow, breaking you from the trance he’s caught you in. “Heard you tried my mocha frappe yesterday,” she says. “What did you think?”

 _“Out of this world,_ Miss Tran.”

It’s good to see that you aren’t the only one who blushes around him, though you’re almost… _jealous?_ And why is he so _polite_ with her? He just calls you by your first name, and he _definitely_ doesn’t attach a ‘Miss’ to it.

Actually, how does he even _know_ her last name? They aren’t on your nametags.

You wonder suddenly if they’d run security checks on everyone who works here before they even let Dr. Foster step into Café Canaveral. _God, that’s intense. Kinda creepy, too._

Maybe worth it, though, if it keeps _this_ guy coming back in every day.

Although you might have a heart attack and die if he keeps looking at you like… like he wants to _eat_ you.

A black van with tinted windows screeches to a halt just outside the door, and your mystery man heaves an irritated sigh, rolling his eyes as the secret-agent-dude steps up to his side. “Barton’s here,” the agent says. “Let’s go.”

“Very well. Until tomorrow, ladies.”

And then, with a baffling amount of grace for a man wearing a full suit in the middle of a Florida heat wave, he pushes himself away from the counter and stalks out after Dr. Foster, still contentedly sipping on his latte.

“Didja hear that?” Rose says, elbowing you in the side. “We’re _ladies._ God, that accent. And that _voice.”_

“And that face.”

“I know. You think he’s bad news?”

“What?”

“That security,” she says. “That Men-In-Black-looking dude was watching him like a hawk. Think he’s like, a dangerous double-agent or something?”

You scoff, turning back to wash a few more dishes - it’s still storming, so it looks like it’s going to be a few minutes before any customers dare to brave the rain for their morning caffeine fix. “I doubt it. You think they’d send some kind of spy to pick up the morning coffee?”

“I mean, Jane Foster is like a supergenius astrophysicist, and _she’s_ doing it. We’re dealing with _superheroes_ here, dude. Their lives don’t _have_ to make sense.”

“That’s true, I guess...”

“He likes you. You should ask if you can take a picture with him and Dr. Foster to put on the café Instagram. I bet he’d go for it.”

 _No, thanks,_ you think; you can barely manage to get two words out when he’s around, and that’s without the added threat of possibly getting tased by a secret agent guy for crossing some unknown boundary. “I think that’s more of a _you_ thing. Besides, you just said he might be dangerous.”

“Yeah, _maybe._ But don’t tell me you don’t want a picture with that dude, because you were _totally_ mooning over him the entire time he was in here.”

“I… I’ll see,” you say finally, blushing at the thought of even _daring_ to ask for something from your possibly-dangerous Disney prince. “After they’ve come in a few more times, I’ll ask if that would be okay.”

“Great!” Rose chirps, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “And maybe then, you can even ask for his number.”

 _Oh, God._ His number? You don’t even know his _name._

_What’s your name, mystery man?_

## 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #espressoyourself <3
> 
> (And keep up with me on [Tumblr](maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com))!


	4. Thai Iced Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You had a hard time focusing in class yesterday, wondering if your new mystery customer made an appearance at the café... not that you should care. There’s no way he likes you, or anything.
> 
> Nope, no way at all.
> 
> And you’re just gonna ignore that text Rose sent. There’s no way it’s about him.
> 
> Right?

You’re a little nervous as you show up to Café Canaveral on Friday. Rose said she had something _insane_ to tell you when you broke down and texted her yesterday, halfway hoping for some kind of update on your mystery man, but she refused to give you any details.

_Just wait,_ she’d messaged. _You’re def gonna want to hear this in person._

The result was that you’d spent most of your seminar course yesterday morning staring at your phone, _dying_ to know what could _possibly_ be so exciting. It had to be about your new regular customers, didn't it? After all, what else could possibly be that notable about just another Thursday at the coffeeshop?

Rose shows up ten minutes after you, and she leans over the counter, nearly bursting with glee. “Oh my _God,”_ she cries. “Do you know what _happened_ yesterday?”

“No. You wouldn’t _tell_ me.”

“Yeah, good point. Okay, so _get this:_ our fave new celebrity customers come in yesterday, same time as usual, right? And Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome asks for _you.”_

You feel your blush start to creep up your neck.

“So he asks for you,” Rose continues, “and Taylor says it’s your day off, and the dude looks _pissed._ He just goes and sits at the table by the window til their stuff is ready, then walks out. Didn’t even help carry the drinks or anything. The guy was _pouting.”_

_What?_ Your heart races. “No way.”

_“Yes,_ way.” She grins. “Mystery man has a _crush_ on you, my friend. Whatcha think he’ll do when he sees your bright, smiling face this morning?”

You turn away, heading behind the counter to stash your bag in the back room. “Nothing. You’re _totally_ exaggerating.”

“Sure, we’ll see.”

“Yeah, we will. Because they’re _here.”_

You peek out of the window, your heart doing exceptionally funny things when you spot the familiar black SUV parked outside.

_Okay, play it cool. Play it cool._

By the time Rose unlocks the door to signal the start of the business day, you’re safely planted behind your register. It’s a little early, but probably worth it if it means you get to keep the _Avengers_ as customers.

Only today, it isn’t just Dr. Foster and Agent Roy and your as-yet-unnamed mystery man. No, they’re also accompanied by a short bespectacled brunette, and she looks like she’s about to burst into laughter.

“Hey, guys,” Dr. Foster says. Her smile is faint, and you get the impression that she probably hasn’t slept in days. “Same as usual. Do you need the sticky note?”

“I’ve got it right here,” you reply, tapping the note stuck to the counter just below the register. And then, feeling strangely emboldened by Rose’s story, you ask the mystery man, “Nothing special for you today?”

He just stares at you for a second or two, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. Then the short brunette elbows him in the side, and he finally says, “Surprise me.”

“But ‘surprise him’ with _ice,”_ the girl at his side pipes up, “because homeboy here can’t take the heat.”

The guy shoots her a nasty glare, but she just grins. _I wish I had that kind of confidence,_ you think. “Got it. An _iced_ surprise.”

Dr. Foster pays, and the odd little group steps to the side to wait. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and it’s been a rough week in the space-government sector, but it’s a super busy morning, so you let Rose take care of the _Avengers Order_ while you try to help with the rest of the line.

You glance up a time or two, but your mystery man isn’t looking your way; in fact, it seems like you’re totally invisible. You’re a little surprised by how much that stings.

The other girl seems completely comfortable around him, and your heart plummets as she tugs on his shirtsleeve, dragging him down to her level to whisper in his ear.

_Is that what this is?_ you think. _Is that his girlfriend, and now he’s pretending that he never flirted with me?_

If he even _had_ flirted with you in the first place - it was probably just wishful thinking.

You shouldn’t feel jealous.

But you are.

They come up to collect their order from the counter, and you realize that the girl is watching you, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Boy,” she says to her companions, just slightly-too-loud. “The sky _sure_ is clear today, isn’t it?”

_“Darcy,”_ Dr. Foster warns. “Don’t.”

_These people have a lot of weird tension with the weather,_ you think, slightly bemused. Maybe it messes with their science experiments or something.

The girl called Darcy just grins up at your mystery guy. If there’s some inside joke there, he _clearly_ isn’t entertained.

“Your iced surprise,” you say, trying to keep that professional cheeriness in your voice, despite the crushing weight of envy pressing down on your chest. “Thai iced coffee.”

He plucks it from your hand and turns to leave immediately, and an exasperated-looking Agent Roy rushes after him.

“Don’t mind him,” Darcy says as she collects the rest of their drinks. “He isn’t totally house-trained yet.”

Dr. Foster cracks a tiny smile at that, and then the two women head back out into the blistering summer heat, carrying containers in hand.

You push down the burning embarrassment - of course he didn’t _like_ you, how stupid could you _be?_ \- and focus instead on taking care of the rest of the morning rush. Once the crowd dies down, you know that Rose is going to start chatting, and for maybe the first time in your life, you’re really dreading it.

And sure enough, once the line has been taken care of, Rose sidles up to the register, her hands tucked in her apron pockets. “So,” she says.

“Yeah. Are you convinced now? I told you there’s nothing there.”

“I don’t think so. On Wednesday, the dude was staring at you like he could see through you. That’s gotta mean something.” And then she pauses, frowning. “You don’t think that’s like… his _thing,_ do you?” she whispered. “X-ray vision?”

“No,” you scoff. “No way. And maybe he just stares because he’s rude. Maybe I remind him of someone he knows. Maybe a million things.”

“Nah. I’ve got good intuition; mystery man _definitely_ has a thing for you. Maybe he’s just shy.”

“Or maybe he’s a pig who stares at people even when he’s got a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t get that vibe. Well, maybe the _pig_ vibe, he seems kinda full of it, but I don’t think that’s his girlfriend.”

Grinning, she gives you an overly enthusiastic pat on the shoulder. “Intuition", she says. “I’m telling you, I’m right.”

Then she starts working on capturing the perfect latte art photo for the café’s Instagram, and you sigh, wiping down the counter.

_Intuition. Yeah, right._

But then you notice that there’s another twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar, and your heart flutters.

_What kind of game is he playing?_

 

* * *

 

Café Canaveral is open on the weekends, and it’s usually pretty busy, because apparently scientists who work for the government and/or Tony Stark don’t take breaks. You’re thankful for it - you can use the money, and you’re honestly more comfortable there than almost anywhere else.

You can’t deny that it’s a little disappointing when the SUV holding your new regulars doesn’t show up on Saturday morning, but you try to push the thought aside. Instead, you and Rose discuss your plans to go to the beach on Sunday afternoon.

“I’m gonna ask Taylor, too,” she says. “Or do you just wanna ask him tomorrow morning?”

“Go ahead and text him, I’ll probably forget.”

“I _wish_ Kannady was back in town, we could just crash at her parents’ beach house.”

“Maybe next weekend.”

“Yeah.”

Rose turns to her phone for a few minutes, and you close your eyes and lean against the counter, enjoying the cool air washing over you from the air vent.

_How did people survive before air conditioning?_

“Hey,” Rose says suddenly. “This is creepy. There’s apparently someone breaking into a lot of the local mom-and-pop-type joints in the area. I guess most of the small businesses seem like easier pickings.”

“Huh.” You can’t imagine anyone trying to rob a coffeeshop, but people are crazy, so you never know. “Do they have a description?”

“Nope. I should get a taser or something.”

“I’m honestly kind of surprised you don’t already have one.”

“Yeah.” She purses her lips. “Maybe we should keep a baseball bat behind the counter.”

“I think we’re good, Rose.”

“If you’re _sure…”_

Giggling at the thought of tiny little Rose charging after an intruder with a baseball bat, you _almost_ manage to forget to hope that your mystery man will make an appearance.

And he doesn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short & sweet. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (P.S. now I wanna go hunt down a fancy coffee...)


	5. Latte Macchiato

The afternoon at the beach was nice. You thank your lucky stars that you get along pretty well with all of your coworkers - heck, you’d even consider them all actual friends. Even Taylor, despite how much he gets on your nerves.

He brought up the mystery man situation. That was the only blip on your day, and you’d managed to do a pretty good job of evading any awkward conversations about your feelings.

The mystery guy’s just a customer, after all. It’s really none of your business if he has a girlfriend or not. And the crazy tips? Well… maybe he’s just insanely, obscenely rich and likes throwing money around to impress people. He definitely has the vibe of someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth. 

And now… now, you’re honestly dreading the arrival of your new regulars, because there’s something particularly  _ painful _ about an unrequited, impossible crush. You feel like an awkward high schooler again, and you’re  _ embarrassed. _

“Hey,” Rose says, apparently catching on to your angst. “Don’t stress it. It’s just a guy. Even if he is, like, a  _ super-hot _ guy. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good. Plus, I’m still pretty positive that I’m right and he’s  _ super _ into you.” She winks and goes to update the chalkboard, and you huff. 

_ Great. Terrible superhero puns. So much for her letting it go. _

Today, they’re a little late - or rather, they aren’t  _ early, _ for once. Dr. Foster doesn’t come inside with them today, but the girl named Darcy does, and you tell yourself that you shouldn’t feel so disappointed. It’s not like  _ she _ did anything wrong, after all.

In fact, she seems pretty nice, from what you can tell. Maybe a little  _ loud, _ because you can hear her voice over everyone else in line, but still  _ nice. _ She also seems weirdly enthusiastic for it to be only around six o’clock in the morning.

“Hey,” she says as they reach the counter. “You guys probably know the drill by now. Same as always, except  _ surprise _ this one—” she jerks her thumb over her shoulder at your looming handsome stranger “—and I’ll just have a regular gigantic iced coffee, please. In fact, if you could just fill up a bucket, that would be cool, too.  _ Some people  _ are a little difficult to deal with early in the morning, and I could use all the help I can get.”

You can’t help but crack a smile. “Believe me, I know the feeling.”

Mystery man is still ignoring you.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you swallow. “Anything else for you guys today?” you ask, but you can’t quite manage your usual top-tier enthusiasm, and you see his eyes flicker towards you, only for a moment. It doesn’t exactly  _ help _ things.

“No,” Darcy replies. “That’s all for today, thanks.”

You have no idea what to surprise him with today… and honestly, there isn’t much fun in it, now that he’s apparently decided that paying any sort of attention to you was a terrible mistake. 

_ Latte macchiato,  _ you decide. That’s easy enough, and it looks nice.

You force a smile when you hand it to him, announcing what it is, but he takes the cup from your hand without comment. Being embarrassed has always made you feel a little ill, and you’re definitely reaching that point now. 

Darcy collects the rest of their order and heads for the door, her arms awkwardly full. Your mystery prince doesn’t appear to be much of a gentleman in  _ that _ regard, either. Agent Roy hovers by the door, seemingly impatient, and you’re reminded of Rose’s theory that maybe the guy is being guarded because  _ he’s _ the dangerous one.

It’s probably ridiculous and not true, but at least you can try to comfort yourself with the notion that you’ve avoided completely falling for some treacherous foreign operative, or… or  _ something _ like that.

Really, you’re just grasping at straws for reasons why you  _ shouldn’t _ be totally disappointed by his sudden coldness.

But then he pauses as he turns to leave, sidling back up to the counter. 

_ Is he going to complain? _ you wonder.  _ That jerk better not complain, not after telling me to ‘surprise’ him and being a totally inconsistent— _

“Pardon me, miss,” he says, leaning one elbow on the counter. “But do you often work late?”

That one throws you for a loop, and you answer without thinking. “Yeah, sometimes.”

_ Oh, God. That was dumb. And dangerous.  _ Giving mysterious customers your schedule was stupid enough to begin with, but  _ this _ guy… with this guy, it seems even more dangerous.

“Not alone,” you hastily add. “But, y’know, we try to stay open as much as possible!”

There’s your cheerful customer service voice again, and you pat yourself on the back.  _ Nice save.  _ And hopefully, you didn’t give him enough info for him to do anything creepy, if he’s so inclined.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome nods, then walks off without another word.

_ Weirdo,  _ you gripe to yourself. 

_ Forget him. _

 

* * *

 

You’ve been at work all day, and your feet are killing you. 

It’s been dark for an hour or two, and even though the coffeeshop has been closed for a while, you’ve been curled up in one of the booths, trying to finish up a paper that’s due on Thursday. Procrastination is deeply-rooted in your nature, and you’re  _ trying _ to be more productive, so you figure a change of scenery might help.

Summer classes suck.

Plus, your apartment kind of sucks, too.

The blinds are closed, and so, when you first hear the door handle jiggle, you’re entirely unprepared for it. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

_ It’s probably just Rose. Maybe she left something. _

But you peep out from under one of the blinds, anyway, and you don’t see Rose’s car. In fact, you don’t see  _ any _ cars.

Heart in your throat, you remember all of the recent headlines about the burglaries and vandalisms in the neighborhood… so far, there hasn’t been anything violent, but…

_...but usually,  _ your mind supplies, _ there’s no one there to get hurt. _

You snatch up your laptop and race to the back, whipping out your phone as you duck into the back room. You don’t want to call the police for  _ nothing,  _ but—

There’s a crack of shattering glass.

You call the police, giving your location and a hurried, whispered plea for them to come quickly, because there’s a break-in in progress.

_ Stay calm, stay quiet,  _ you tell yourself. They’re just here to steal stuff, not to hurt you. Right?

Can you make it to the back door? You aren’t sure if you can, without them hearing you. You’ve never been particularly good with confrontations, and you’re feeling a little frozen. There are male voices - two of them, it seems - both loud.

Maybe that bat would’ve been a good idea, after all.

“Hey,” one of the voices suddenly says. “There’s a bag on the floor over here. I think someone’s still in here.”

You bolt for the backdoor.

And to your credit, you even manage to get it unlocked and get a foot or two out into the alley before a hand grabs you by the collar and yanks you backwards, tossing you against the wall. Your fall, your head smacking into the cement.

_ “Shit,” _ the voice hisses. “Why’d you do that, you idiot? She hadn’t  _ seen _ us.”

“Yeah, well she has now.”

You blink up, slightly dazed. There are two guys staring down at you, probably around your age, but you’ve never been very good at guessing ages. You don’t recognize them from anywhere, and they’re honestly pretty nondescript.

Plus, even if they  _ did _ have any particularly remarkable features, you probably wouldn’t have noticed them, because your attention is  _ entirely _ fixed on the pistol that the second guy is pulling from his belt.

The first guy swears loudly, his hands on his head. “Where did you get that? That bumps us up to like, armed robbery or some shit like that.”

The one with the gun doesn’t seem to care. “Not if she can’t tell anyone.”

You aren’t too proud to beg.  _ “Please,”  _ you cry, scrambling back on the pavement, your hands stinging from where they’d caught a lot of your weight. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Get up.”

You push yourself up against the wall, your legs shaking.  _ Oh, God, _ you think.  _ I don’t want to die like this. _

“Turn around.” You close your eyes as you comply, bracing yourself for… you don’t know what.  _ Pain? Nothingness? _ He laughs. “Nice ass.”

Your skin crawls, but it also snaps you out of your daze.  _ Run,  _ you order yourself.  _ He’s going to get close, and once he’s distracted, run. _

But there’s a sudden crunching sound and a terrible cry of pain from behind you, and you sprint forward without looking back, until a gunshot rings out. You expect to feel it, and you jerk to a halt, but when you  _ don’t… _ you turn.

The mystery man is there in the alley with you, a look of slightly-crazed amusement in his eyes. He’s still wearing a suit, and you shriek when you notice that there’s a hole blown in the front of his shirt, right over his sternum. 

The reluctant robber is nothing more than a crumpled heap on the ground, and the eager one is raising the gun again, though you notice that it’s with a different hand; one of his arms is hanging uselessly at his side.

The guy from the coffeeshop laughs, darting forward with a speed that doesn’t seem quite  _ right.  _ You wonder if everything seems blurred because you’re going into shock, or if it’s because you smacked your head so hard. He grabs your assailant by the collar and twists, rocketing the man over his shoulder and into the cement… except there’s no impact. The robber just… _ disappears.  _

You start screaming at the top of your lungs.

Your mystery man spins, reaching out towards you ever-so-slightly, his expression soothing. “Now, miss,” he begins, “there is really no need—”

But then wailing sirens and headlights flood into the alley, blinding you and casting your rescuer in sharp contrast. “Sir,” a voice blares out from one of the police cars, “put your hands where we can see them.”

The look on his face, just for a moment, is one of pure  _ rage, _ and you’re worried for a second that the cop cars are about to disappear, too. Then the look flickers away and he sighs, raising his hands in the air. 

“I  _ really _ did not want to deal with this,” he says, and then all hell breaks loose, a bunch of black SUVs swarming in to block off the alley, men in black body armor spilling out, weapons in hand. There’s a lot of frantic yelling between the cops and the new arrivals, but all you can hear is a distant ringing sound, and everything else is starting to feel  _ really _ far away.

Your rescuer takes a large step backwards, his hands still in the air, and you see him sizing you up out of the corner of his eye. 

“Sir,” one of the original cops yells, ignoring whatever argument is going on behind him.  _ “Don’t move.” _

His lip curls up in a worrying smirk, and then he lunges without warning, his heavy frame crashing into you with enough force that it knocks your breath away. Everything is black and thick and heavy, and you  _ feel _ his laugh against your ear before your panic spikes and everything slips away.

 

* * *

 

“You are such a freaking _ idiot.” _

The voice is familiar, but it’s dark, and you can’t quite place it. Still, it’s pretty rude for a nameless voice in the dark to be calling you an idiot. You’d be almost _ offended,  _ if you could figure out what was going on in the first place.

_ Oh,  _ you realize, feeling terribly stupid.  _ Eyes are closed.  _

You force them open, and everything around you is insanely, painfully bright, but only for a moment. As your eyes adjust, you see that you’re in a small room with cream-colored walls and no windows.  _ Concerning.  _ There’s a terrible pounding in your head, and you squeeze them closed again.

“It’s hardly  _ my _ fault that the girl called local law enforcement.”

“Well, you could’ve not  _ tackled her through a wormhole. _ You  _ know _ Fury’s gonna be pissed, and so are all the others, once they find out.”

“I have to deal with enough mortal irreverence as it is, Darcy Lewis. In what world can you imagine me allowing myself to be  _ arrested?” _

“The world where you’re  _ supposed _ to keep a low profile! You better hope she’s awake to clear your name and save your ass by the time S.H.I.E.L.D. gets here - Clint  _ already _ doesn’t like you being able to wander off on your own, and this looks  _ bad, _ Mischief.”

_ Oh, _ you realize.  _ Darcy. Darcy from the coffeeshop. So that means… _

“No need to fear.” There’s a slight air of amusement in his voice - how could you  _ ever _ have not recognized that voice? “She is awake.”

_ Crap, _ you’ve been caught. Blushing, you open your eyes, and this time there are two faces in your field of vision - Darcy and the mystery man. She looks worried; you can’t really tell  _ what _ his expression is supposed to be. 

“Oh my God,” Darcy says, her eyes wide and apologetic. “I am so,  _ so _ sorry about this. Can I get you something? You want a ginger ale? Ginger ale helps me with the space-portal stomach problems. I’ll go get some ginger ale.”

“Wait,” you croak. “What… what  _ is _ this? Where am I?”

“Uh... “ She shoots a look towards the man, but he doesn’t jump in to help. “You’re kinda in… well, you’re in the new Stark research facility, actually. But the secret part. Underground. Sorry, I know this is  _ super _ weird and you’re probably terrified… it’s just, Loki gets kind of  _ jumpy _ around humans with guns, and—”

_ “Loki?” _

The man is grinning down at you now, and your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest. It’s a name you recognize, from the news, the internet, from countless headlines following the Battle of New York...  _ He can’t be… _

“What’s the matter, mortal?” he asks, leaning over you. “First time meeting a god?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say it's high time we escalate things, wouldn't you? ;D


	6. Ginger Ale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... at least you know his name, now. Maybe you should’ve been more careful with your wishes.

Your Disney Prince - who’s  _ apparently _ an actual, honest-to-God  _ supervillain _ \- has been sitting on the edge of your bed for a good ten minutes, watching you like a hawk. 

You stare back, petrified. 

“Hey, team!” Darcy bursts back into the tiny room, a soda can in one hand, a styrofoam cup in the other. “Everyone still in one piece?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Of course, Darcy.”

You open your mouth, then close it.  _ Say something.  _ Gathering your nerve, you dig your fingers into the blanket underneath you. “Could… would you mind not  _ looking _ at me like that?”

Amusement lights in his eyes, but before he can say anything in response, Darcy springs to your aid.  _ “Yeah,” _ she says, shoving the cup of ice in your hand. “I think you can dial the intensity down a notch or two, Mischief. I mean, you’ve already scared poor… sorry, what’s your name, again?”

But Loki tells her before you have a chance. And he’s  _ still _ watching you. 

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy rambles on, apparently oblivious to your angst. “Sorry about that. I’m, like,  _ really  _ bad with names. Probably why I use nicknames so much, actually. That’s pretty, though.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, just ignore him. He hasn’t gotten used to the fact that he isn’t  _ royalty  _ here.” She shoots him a pointed glare, and he  _ finally _ looks away from you. 

“I am a prince of the Nine Realms,” he replies, “and unless I mistake myself, Darcy Lewis,  _ Midgard _ is one of the Nine Realms.”

“See? Just ignore him.” If she notices your hands shaking when she cracks the can open and fills your cup with ginger ale, she’s nice enough not to mention it. “I swear this helps. And you’re already doing better than me! I puked everywhere the first time I got teleported.”

Some part of your brain has decided that none of this is real; people aren’t actually talking about gods and magic and  _ teleportation _ like it’s some kind of casual, everyday thing. You’re probably concussed. Right? Or maybe you’re actually unconscious right now and this isn’t real. 

That would probably be for the best. 

“What happens now?” you ask. 

They exchange a look, and you suddenly remember every movie and TV show you’ve ever seen where the hapless civilian gets their memory zapped after they stumble across something sketchy. 

A smile slowly spreads across Loki’s face as he turns back to you, as if he can taste your rising apprehension. “Now that you know who I am, mortal, I suppose I can’t let you live.”

Darcy shoves him. “Oh, stop it,” she snaps. “You aren’t a Bond villain.”

_ Isn’t he, though? _

“Tony will probably be blowing up my phone in a minute,” she continues, “so I say we just  _ sneakily _ get him to come here and figure things out. S.H.I.E.L.D. is probably swarming all over town, with you popping off and opening unapproved portals.”

_ Tony Stark? Oh, God.  _

“I see no reason to involve him,” Loki says. “I can handle this perfectly well on my own.”

“Like  _ hell _ you can—”

“Actually,” you interrupt, awkwardly raising a hand to grab their attention, “I’d like to just… go home? Can I just go home? You can walk me to the exit and I’ll walk home, or…” 

You were going to say  _ ‘call for a ride,’  _ but you realize that you don’t have any idea where your phone wound up during the scuffle. 

Darcy smiles; it’s a little forced, but you appreciate the effort. “Look, I totally get why you want to just take off, but we need to wait for backup. For one thing, wandering around at night right after you got attacked and tossed through a portal is just a  _ terrible _ idea, and for another, the big guns are already on the case, so they’ll be looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” Your voice cracks a little -  _ embarrassing.  _

“Well, yeah. It was kind of a spectacle, you know? But, it’ll be okay! I promise.”

Loki rolls his eyes.  _ Comforting. _ “I do not answer to  _ Stark,” _ he says, “nor to anyone else, for that matter. If I carry her directly to her home—”

Her phone dings, and she holds up a finger, silencing him. “Too late, pal. He’s already here.”

_ Oh, God help me,  _ you think.  _ I’m about to meet Iron Man. _

 

* * *

 

“So, mind explaining to me exactly what you were doing lurking behind a coffee shop that just  _ happened _ to get robbed?”

Tony Stark has you a little star-struck. The fact that  _ Thor _ is with him has you even  _ more _ starstruck, and Loki appears none-too-pleased.

“I might have the  _ slightest _ bit of foresight,” he replies smoothly. “Our mother did, as well; tell them, Thor.”

_ “Mother _ did, but you’ve told me time and again that you do not possess—”

“A latent talent, perhaps.”

“And your story is that you saw a premonition of our lovely barista here getting mugged, and… what? Took a sudden interest in human welfare? Let me guess, she’s the one the thunderstorm was for, right?”

_ The one the thunderstorm was for…? _

Loki says nothing, but Thor beams at you. You smile back weakly, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to end up in such a mess. You’ll probably be lucky if they don’t ship you off to some sort of top-secret containment facility, since apparently this is all such a  _ big deal. _

“I think we should play this off as a  _ good _ thing,” Darcy says. “Like,  _ ‘Look at Mischief, protecting random citizens!’ _ seems like a pretty positive spin to put on it, you know?”

“Maybe, but he’s supposed to be keeping a low profile, and this is the exact opposite of that.” Mr. Stark looks to you, then, and you nearly drop your cup. “You want to go home, right?”

“I… yes, please.”

He swipes the rest of your can of ginger ale from the table and takes a swig, giving Loki a thorough staredown. “Alright,” he finally says, “let’s try to keep this as low-key as possible. Take the nice lady home, Blitzen.”

“But, Tony,” Darcy says, “what about—”

“This isn’t a prison.”

Loki’s smile is thin. “Isn’t it?”

“Darcy Lewis is right to worry,” Thor rumbles. “It will be easy enough for the authorities to find our new friend, as they know her place of employment. Would she not be safest here?”

_ Crap.  _ You  _ really  _ just want to get back to your apartment and sleep all of this away. 

Though, Thor - an  _ Avenger _ \- calling you a ‘new friend’ is definitely worth a mention in your diary.  _ Rose will be so jealous… _

Shrugging, Mr. Stark finishes off the can, then tosses it into the recycling bin by the door. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t; they’re going to follow up either way, and I think it looks more nefarious if he’s dragged her off to his lair. The ‘hero’ angle works better if he carries her home.”

“Very well.” Thor crosses his arms across his broad chest, and you assume that he’s trying to look stern. “You will bring me with you then, Brother.”

“Come now, Thor, must you always make things so  _ difficult? _ She’ll be perfectly fine in my care.” Loki turns to you, eyes glittering.  _ “Won’t _ you, mortal?”

_ Crap, _ you think,  _ when was the last time I cleaned the apartment? _ “Um…” 

“That is what I thought,” he says with a smile, and he grabs your wrist and yanks you from the bed. Your cup falls from your hands, but you don’t have time to worry too much about the mess, because before you even have a chance to brace yourself, you’re tripping forward against his chest - and through  _ space,  _ if the darkness and the rushing air around you is any indication.

_ Again. _

You shriek and clutch madly at anything that might stop your fall, and that ‘anything’ just so happens to be  _ him. _

_ Screw it,  _ you decide, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face against his crisp button-down shirt. If he has an issue with you getting handsy, well,  _ maybe _ he shouldn’t be dragging you through wormholes without even a  _ warning.  _

Your knees nearly buckle when they hit the checkered linoleum of the kitchen floor in your apartment, and you dig your fingers more firmly into his shirt, clinging for dear life.  _ Please, _ you pray,  _ please keep it together. Don’t puke on the hot guy. The hot god. Oh, God… there’s a god in my apartment. _

“Don’t move,” you wheeze, far past the point where things like ‘clinging-to-the-villainous-deity’ seem like the worst of your problems - no, the  _ worst _ of your problems is going to be falling flat on your face, which is what’ll probably happen if he lets go.

And he’d probably do it, too, just for the chance to smirk down at you.

“Strange,” Loki says. “I did not take you for the demanding type—”

“And shut up, too.” Your stomach is cramping up; he didn’t mess something up, did he? Is this just a normal side-effect? “Please.”

He lets out a startled huff, but you can’t really tell if he’s amused, or offended.  _ Maybe it’s both.  _ His hand smooths down your back, then, and the world seems to stop spinning just a little. More magic - or are you just that distracted by having the guy you’ve been crushing on so hard wrapped around you like this?

It’s really surprising that he actually stays quiet for a minute or two, and you close your eyes and try to breathe.  _ Maybe _ you’ll get lucky, and he’ll vanish away again before he notices the huge pile of dirty dishes your roommate left in the sink after her latest baking experiment…

When he leans down and whispers right in your ear, you’re so startled that you jump a little, though Loki doesn’t let go. “Any other commands, coffee wench?”

“Wow, you just have no manners at  _ all, _ do you?”

Loki actually does laugh at that, releasing you and turning to peruse your apartment.  _ Great. _ “I have  _ exquisite _ manners, when the situation calls for it. What  _ is _ this?”

He picks up the bright red plastic bell pepper sitting on your kitchen counter, examining it closely. Is he just screwing with you? “That’s a kitchen timer,” you tell him, snatching it from his hand. “Look, I really appreciate everything you did tonight, saving me and all, but—”

“This is very small. And you do not live here alone?” Now he’s prowling into the living room, and you wilt a little in embarrassment as you see him look over the couches - they’re mismatched, and they’re about twenty years old, but they’re  _ comfy. _

“No. It’s big enough, anyway. I don’t spend that much time here.”

“Hmm.”

“You should probably get back to… where you’re supposed to be,” you valiantly continue as he stops to study the framed photos on the wall next to the window. “Before everyone gets worried.”

Loki sends a skeptical look your way, like he isn’t buying that excuse at all. “I suppose so,” he says, “if you _ insist. _ Your home is not particularly inviting, after all.” He peeks through the blinds, then rattles the door handle, finally turning back to you with a slightly-satisfied look on his face.

_ What the hell is he doing? _ you think, staring at him.  _ Casing the joint? _

“I’ll be off, then. Don’t forget to say your prayers tonight, mortal.” He winks at you as your face flushes, then steps forward, disappearing into thin air.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my  _ God,” _ Rose says Tuesday morning, “so the cops came by your  _ apartment?” _

“Yeah.” Frowning, you rub at the mark on your phone screen, hoping it’s not an actual scratch. Looks like you’re out of luck.  _ Great. _ At least your phone wasn’t lost in whatever magical space-portal Loki dragged you through. “Well, not the regular police. Some suit-and-tie guys, like the one who’s always with Dr. Foster.”

“You really didn’t have to come in today, you know,” Taylor adds. “We’ve got it covered, if you need to like… go to the police station, or to the doctor, or something. Or just take a day to process what happened.”

“I’d rather not think about it.”

They exchange a look, which you pointedly ignore. You don’t want everyone trying to baby you, you just want things to go back to  _ normal. _ Rose clears her throat. “What did they say?” she asks.

“They didn’t really  _ say _ anything, just asked a bunch of questions. They wanted to know what happened; I told them that two guys broke in here, attacked me, and that when I came to, I was back at my apartment. Told them I must’ve been in shock, or something.” You shrug. “They left me alone.”

“But it was your mystery man that saved you?”

“Yeah. Pretty lucky, right?”

Granted, the version of the truth you shared with them is fairly edited, but you  _ did _ mention that your mystery man is  _ an Avenger,  _ and that he dove in and saved the day in a flair of superhuman dramatics… you just omitted the part about waking up underground at a secret facility, and meeting Iron Man and Thor. Oh, and the fact that he’s  _ Loki, _ the supervillain who led an  _ alien army  _ to New York.

That’s probably best to keep secret, especially while the authorities are keeping an eye on you.

“I don’t know if I’d call that lucky,” Taylor says, wiping down the chalkboard. “The ‘getting saved’ part, sure, but the rest of it seems pretty  _ unlucky.” _

“Spectacularly unlucky,” Rose agrees. “But what happened with Hot Guy? Did you get his name, at least?”

“Um, no. Or at least, I don’t remember, if I did; last night is kind of a blur. Stress is bad for short-term memory, you know.”

She snorts. “That explains why I bombed my last test. Think he’ll be back today? I want to grill him. This whole thing is getting  _ way _ too weird.”

“I’m not sure.”  _ Quick,  _ you think,  _ change the subject.  _ “How long will it take to get the window replaced?”

“Boss says his cousin will come by to take care of it tomorrow or Thursday. He’s pretty pissed. Not at you, obviously, but just in general. I’m surprised he didn’t call you.”

You wave your cracked phone. “It was here,” you say. “I dropped it, and it seems like it’s dead, too.”

“My charger’s in the back,” Taylor tells you. “You can borrow it, if you want. Take it easy today, okay? You look kind of… weird.”

“Thanks.”

“Just  _ saying, _ man. Don’t want you to pass out during the middle of the rush and spill boiling coffee all over yourself, or something.”

“He’s right,” Rose says, patting you on the back. “Maybe just man the register today, okay? We’ll do the heavy lifting.”

“Okay.” You force a smile. “Thanks, guys. Really.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy Lewis eventually comes in to retrieve coffee, accompanied by a man you don’t recognize in a suit and tie, and your heart flutters in disappointment. “Woah,” she says, looking at the taped-over window. “That’s scary.”

“Yeah.”  _ Crap, _ you think,  _ how do I make sure that we’re on the same page, story-wise? _ “Did you hear about what happened last night? I think it was on the news. I was here when it happened.” You touch your head, a rueful smile on your face. “Got smacked in the head for my trouble, too.”

“Damn, girl, your work ethic is out of control. I definitely would’ve taken the day off.”

_ Thank goodness. _ You sigh in relief; it looks like Darcy isn’t going to out your crazy adventure last night while people are listening. “Didn’t really want to sit home alone, you know? Usual order today?”

“No,” she says, and then she squints at you, like she’s trying to figure out what to say. “Some of us are… uh, out of town? And some of us have family visiting. Big Brother, you know what I mean?” She jerks her head slightly, indicating the man who’s stayed hovering by the door. “Kind of an  _ overbearing _ bunch.”

_ Jesus, I feel like I’m in some kind of spy movie. _ “I know what you mean. I had some company stop by my apartment last night, too.”

“No bad news, right?” Her smile is light, but Darcy looks genuinely concerned, and it makes your chest feel a little tight.

“No, everything was fine. They just… were glad to hear that I made it home okay, after everything that happened, even if I didn’t remember how. Shock, you know? Adrenaline is crazy stuff.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, “it sure is.” Her expression relaxes, and her smile widens. “I’m glad to hear that everything is okay. My friend… well, I’m sure he’ll be really happy to hear that, too.”

You return her smile and take her order, blushing faintly.  _ Really? It’ll make him happy to hear about me? _

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says as she moves aside to wait for her order. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You hesitate for a minute. “Thanks, Darcy. Really, for everything.”

Once she’s gone, Rose leans against the counter at your side. “She’s nice. Why didn’t you ask her the guy’s name?”

“That agent was staring me down. I think I’m not supposed to know, whatever it is. They might stop coming if we can’t keep things discreet, don’t you think?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. This is all so nuts. Next time he comes in, I might just ask him myself.”

“Go ahead, get yourself on a watch list.”

“Oh, like it isn’t  _ totally _ worth it.”

“It  _ might _ be…”

Laughing, she elbows you in the side, then goes back to work. As you deal with the rest of your line, you can’t help but mull over the question that she’s raised in your mind: how much trouble  _ is _ Loki actually worth?

_ Maybe a lot of trouble. _

The thought frightens you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting some more coffeeshop action! ☕️ (This one was supposed to update after Your Ghost, but I was feeling inspired. A Your Ghost update is coming soon, if you’re waiting on that one)! <3


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